Consanguinity
by Arya May
Summary: "Your words are treason, brother. I advise you to keep them in your head, or get rid of them altogether." World War II told in Prussia's point of view, and some of the years leading up to it. Historical Hetalia.
1. Act I: No Goodbyes

_**Consanguinity**_

**A/N: I think I've been away form the Hetalia fandom for months now, and honestly, I feel kind of bad so I decided to post this. _Consanguinity_ is just something I wrote a little of a long time ago, kind of serving as a piece I just add a sentence/ paragraph/ etc. to when I was bored. It got kind of long, so I decided to split this into a multi-chaptered fic. The story covers events from 1937- 42 during the era of the Second World War and a little of what happened before. It ends at Stalingrad, and I assure you I did my research.  
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**I tried to portray Prussia as I see him in that time. He's confused, angry, lost and all those things you expect him to be in a world like Nazi Germany.**

**Please leave a review!**

***Like a total idiot, I somehow managed to delete the first upload by mistake. Please forgive this.**

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_**Act One: No Goodbyes**_

Prussia was and had always been a soldier, ever since he was born on the battlefields of the Crusades- a little boy with a sword in hand (and a grin of bloodlust that only showed some of the insanity hidden behind his unnatural scarlet eyes), to when he was declared a country proper, and to what came thereafter. Whenever he looked back in time, he could not remember an era where he was without his weapons and the blood that stained them- when he had been without his purpose of which he was originally born for. That said is quite clear: to kill, to protect- with the sentiment of an executioner wielding Death's scythe; to defend his land and people so that he wouldn't be pushed off the map by his surrounding neighbours. So that he would never have to let go of what he had conquered.

But the old horizons were blurring as time continued to pass. Before, the standard expectations were cut clear like rivers in stone- dictated by necessities and bound by honour- a code that Gilbert had lived by. _Now_ things had changed (more for the worse than for the better). All had been replaced with bloody red flags and stone faced men wearing swastikas on their arms. And as for his brother, he didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

He had never willingly disobeyed his superiors when it came to command, but now whenever he acted on his orders, he found a needle stabbing at his heart- one that pierced deeper with each day that passed him.

* * *

_**1937**_

_This is stupid, _Gilbert thought sullenly as he threw a cigarette butt in the ashtray, exhaling a last mouthful of sweet nicotine laced smoke.

He looked at the pile of paperwork he still had in front of him and fought the urge to throw it all in the trash, with a snide thought on the sheer ridiculousness of it all in which he would have been put in charge with crap he never really cared about in the first place. It was so much like West to do that, the jackass, not ever giving his brother what he wanted to do and instead assigning him with the likes of useless dogma. They had people hired to especially sign documents and write flattering letters to this politician and that minister, so why make he, the awesome Prussia suffer? Gah, it was pissing him off more just to think about it. Best not to, actually. He thought that he had already made the point clear that diplomacy wasn't his strong point after calling the Polish ambassador a petty bastard in a dinner party that the Fuehrer had been holding, and though he was reprimanded for it, a lot of the generals slipped a word to him after the meeting that they had approved of what he had voiced.

Politics were for the diplomats. He swore of every inch of the world that if he had the patience to be one when needed like Ludwig, he would no longer be the personification of Prussia.

"Tea, sir?" his secretary (_the only thing good about the damned office_, Prussia had frequently noted) asked as he scrawled down a note about… the approval of the budget for road building, he didn't really care, "You looked tired."

"Not tired. Bored." Gilbert smirked stretched out his legs- asleep from so many hours of sitting, "Tell me this is all the crap for today, _please_."

Or maybe not. "You have a meeting with _Reichsmarschall _Goering and some others in charge of the _Luftwaffe_ over the new _Messerschmitt_ designs. That is all, I believe."

"Not as bad as expected. At least he's not a boring ass like Keitel."

"General Keitel would not be pleased if he heard those words, sir."

"Who cares. What can he do anyway? He's nothing more than a professional sock puppet in any case."

Gilbert met miffed blue eyes with a scoff, and went back to blindly signing the remaining pile of documents. He was really starting to hate Berlin, not for the city because of course, it had been his heart for a few centuries, but rather because of the claustrophobic atmosphere that always hung around the officers and government buildings and such that made him feel like as if he were a prisoner in an elaborately made cage. And the higher up Nazi officials he always detested, at any rate- like Goebbels for an instance, the stuck up bastard. Though he always pretended to respect the albino, it didn't take rocket science to figure out what the man was thinking whenever he looked at Prussia with the disapproving stare. The only reason why Gilbert hadn't bothered voicing his own disapproval out loud yet was because he wasn't born yesterday and didn't need to provide the propaganda minister with more reason to make his life difficult for him. He was more at home with the members of the army, obviously. If anything, he was itching to be out somewhere where he could dust the nauseating political dirt off of himself. And maybe vent out some of the energy and frustration he had been holding back for these few weeks as well.

He didn't approve of the Nazi regime, but he could not for one deny that it had been useful. Hardly ten years ago, the streets had seemed more like a gathering place for the starving and the homeless more than anything. Unemployment had reached its peak, and Gilbert and Ludwig both had grown ever the more weaker day by day as their economy collapsed under the Versailles treaty demands. Riots had broken out in open space, and as for hope…

It had seemed slim. But at least, more _believable_ than the thought of a mad failure of an artist with a mouth to talk his way into the heart of the government. Prussia in actuality disliked Hitler with something that bordered onto resentment, a resentment that he had forced with every fibre of his will not to show. It a skill that he had to thank Fritz for teaching him two hundred years ago.

Accepting the racial laws was bordering on masochism for someone like him (because in all senses, he was an example of what the Nazis preached against), and asking a nation to deny his people was purely illogical. Regarding the former point, the stares and on common occasion- _glares _that he had gotten from people made his skin prickle in discomfort and irritation.

But yet, this hate undeniably was what kept the whole structure from falling apart. Nothing could have been as bad as the Depression after Versailles and those painful days starving as the rest of the country starved. It was a difficult decision: to go back to anarchy or to accept what had come?

Gilbert couldn't go back to the past, and he did not want Ludwig to become that pale shell of a man he was back at that time again. If anything, they were brothers, and perhaps the only reason why Prussia bothered at all with the Nazis was for reasons of consanguinity alone.

A knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts, and Prussia knew the knock well enough to figure out who it was without batting a lash. A moment later, a tall blond walked in with the stiffness of one who probably thought the entire world was some sort of military marching ground. Even he, lifelong soldier as it was, didn't stand like he had something lodged up his ass to keep himself as straight as a dried stick like Ludwig. He used to make fun of his little brother for that, before the irritated man had put him on silent treatment for a week or so and bombarded him with more paperwork than usual.

And even then, he couldn't deny that West was the image of the perfection that the Nazis had sought- Aryan features, efficient workaholic, discipline, obedience, loyalty, and a cold assed attitude towards everything to boot. It wasn't a lie that sometimes when Gilbert looked at him, he couldn't find a trace of the kid that he had raised into an Empire, the kid who ran and laughed and acted like as if he were fucking alive and not some sort of machine. Or maybe that was just how things were now. He might as well get used to them and be flexible with his options.

Life was a bitch that just needed to be tamed a little, after all.

"Speaking of the devil," the albino drawled and threw his boot clad legs onto the desk, lighting another cigarette, "What miracle has been done so that the great Ludwig Beilschmidt would visit his awesome big brother?"

Germany didn't bother responding, but only gave a look that spelt _no nonsense _so acutely that even Prussia's sarcasm withered a little in its path. A mandatory "_Heil Hitler_" was made that the older returned with a distinct lack of relish and an air that was even bordering on impatience- clearly he was tired of all of the formality between them, but to reason with Ludwig on breaching of regulations was like trying to tell a rock to grow legs and run. It was met with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a frown on the blond's face, but otherwise he refrained from commenting on why his brother did as he did so. Instead, he said in a clipped tone, "Remove your feet from the desk, Prussia. It is hardly appropriate."

"Fuck, Ludi. You're turning into Specs…" Gilbert shook his head but did as told, "Cigarette?"

"No, thank you. I have come here to ask for your opinion on this particular file. It was just read out in maybe every church still operating in the entire nation, and somehow got smuggled in without notice." Ludwig's annoyance showed even more clearly now, "Pathetic. After the_ Fueher _has done so much for them, the common masses are still willing to listen to the words of a man hundreds of miles away who has nothing but fraud at his heels."

"But some say the same about the _Fuehrer_-"

"Your words are treason, brother. I advise you to keep them in your head, or get rid of them altogether."

That stung, but it was the truth. The truth however, did not prevent Prussia from glaring at his sibling and saying back, "When you learn some respect again, maybe I'll consider shutting up. Until then, go kiss my ass."

They stared at one another for a few moments before Ludwig looked away and muttered a brief apology. The albino nodded in acceptance before going on to read the document, as was going to before. It was a papal bull on the suppression of religion or something, but with a smattering of truth on the topic of discrimination at least. Though Gilbert had stopped caring about religion a long time ago ever since his era of the Teutonic Knights had fallen, he couldn't deny that this particular statement carried by the Pope was nothing short of an open edict of criticism for the Nazi party and its axioms. Nothing that he cared too much about of course, but Ludwig seriously looked pissed off enough to punch a hole in the wall, literally.

"I'm not a diplomat." Gilbert shrugged, "But you really can't afford to have that spreading… which it probably already has. I wouldn't be surprised if there would be a few protests here and there of course. Get the... _Gestapo_ or something to start confiscation." (_Or prosecution_, but it was not something he said out loud.)

"It is already being done. I am glad to see we are of the same mind on something, brother."

Gilbert rose an eyebrow, but chose not to comment. Instead, he took the opportunity to slide onto another subject, one that he had been meaning to bring up for some time. "Speaking of which, I'm planning to stage a protest of my own. I'm dying from all this… junk, West. You know how much I hate paperwork. The awesome Prussia is not a fucking office clerk, alright?"

"Duty is duty, not want. Your immaturity is becoming a liability."

"You never let me do anything, West."

"It's not me." The blond said, "It is actually your own fault why you are where you are- simply because you are actually doing a good job with what you are doing. I do not see why anyone would cast away a useful piece on the chessboard, for one."

Prussia only scowled in return, "It's not like I have much of a choice in the regard."

"And neither do I. We have our orders and it is our responsibility to see them carried out. It is only the natural order of things."

_When pigs fly_. Red eyes narrowed a little in irritation. He fought the urge to slap some sense into his little brother and tell him that it wasn't a stranger he was talking to but his own family member. How long had it been since they had last been since they had had a moment or a conversation even, that didn't concern the aspects of profession? As time passed, Ludwig grew ever more distant from whom he was closest to before. He became obsessed with his work, drowned himself in it day and night, and had seemed to wipe from his mind everything but the Nazi doctrines. But he was the representation of their nation after all, and so really, it ached Prussia not being able to do anything about it. He had sacrificed his brother for his brother. That hardly even made sense but yet it was exactly how it went.

"You know," he said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, "We haven't exactly done anything together lately. Maybe we could go to Potsdam when you're free and you know, loosen up a bit for us both? I think the awesome me may be catching a case of permanent muscle cramps if this keeps up."

Scarlet orbs met icy blue for a moment, and saw nothing but empty depths in what were so turbulent before, a deep ocean- frozen, like endless stretches of arctic glaciers. He couldn't tell what Ludwig was thinking anymore either, when he could with no difficulty before, when they both lived together at the Imperial palace and there had been no fears in the world because they knew that they were the strongest the world had to offer. Things had changed so much in less than thirty years- a bat of an eye for nations like themselves.

And would they change more?

He was by no means a far sighted sibyl, but as for the future…

"I apologize. I have no time to spare for now." the blond sounded almost _impatient_ as he declined the offer, and before his brother could get a chance to reply, he had already slipped out the door- leaving the albino with half a word dangling on open lips.

_Damn him_. Prussia gritted his teeth in frustration as he slammed a fist down on the hard surface of the wooden desk. _He didn't even say goodbye_.

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**I'll try to update as soon as I can. Please leave a review!**

**Notes: The "Papal Bull" was actually a real document called "With Burning Sorrow" issued by the Pope that accused Germany of racism and the suppression of religion. It was smuggled into Germany sometime around March 15th, 1937 and read at every church during the 21st, if I have my dates correct. As predicted after that, every copy of it found was confiscated by the Gestapo.  
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	2. Act II: Spitfire

_**Consanguinity**_

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the positive feedback on the first chapter! I hope you'll find this installment to your liking too.**

**I chose to begin _Consanguinity_ with the year 1937 because it was the start of so many things, most notably- the Spanish Civil War. I wrote a little prelude for it in this chapter, but next time Prussia will actually be in Spain, and I am really excited to write his interactions with Antonio. Also in this chapter will be Prussia talking to his former king, Old Fritz (ie. Frederick the Great) in Garrison Church- the place he was buried before WWII started.**

**I've also been asked very kindly to write some of this story in Germany's point of view from a reader on Deviant Art, so tell me what you guys think. Again, I welcome any reviews, so please leave some suggestions!**

_**For best viewing options, select 3/4 width.**_

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_**Act Two: Spitfire**_

Garrison Church was not a beautiful place by any means, but it was simply what it held within its walls that made Prussia come to it at least once a week- or more, if he had not as much work as he did on hand. Normally he wouldn't have hesitated to push aside all that for his intention, but it was the very thing- _person_- that he went there for which prevented him from shirking (and maybe save him from a few hours' worth of lecture from Ludwig). The eyes that he had always held in his mind and the fires that had been lit within those long gone greys had still had the same effect on him even if they were two hundred years away. Fritz would have not approved if he ditched duty just to talk to a coffin. Even if that coffin contained what used to be him, or at least- what was left of him.

If the idea of speaking to an inanimate object seemed to anyone else almost insane, it was not so to Prussia. There was always a lingering part of his soul that still had held a trace of the sentimentality he had long since grown out of- and it was because of that pocket maybe, and his devotion to anything related to his former king as well as his reluctance to see him as truly dead and gone that fueled the…habit. Duty. _Responsibility. _Gilbert didn't regret the notion of having one on one conversations with the man whom he owed everything, even if it meant not ever receiving a verbal response. That aspect didn't matter though. He still knew his king well enough to know what he'd say back, even as unpredictable as the man had been.

Despite the hundred and fourty- eight years since the world had last known Frederick the Great, he remained as always as he were to his nation: a pillar of consolidation and remembrance of the halcyon days that had passed, but a memory that Prussia would always hold in his heart.

He ignored the intimidated looks directed to him by some of the people in the church as he entered through the gates, knowing that his _Wehrmacht_ uniform, though not as open a declaration of hostility as opposed to the black SS one, still struck some degree of fear into this slight minority of the populace who refused to concede to the Nazi teachings. Not that he cared. They probably thought he was a spy or something since he came so often, passing over the service- or maybe just an eccentric, if any ever gathered the nerve to follow him down to where Fritz's tomb was.

Of course they wouldn't. The gun he had strapped at his side was warning enough, and the Night of the Long Knives had already thought those who had brain that most with that kind of weapon weren't afraid to actually use it- not that he actually would of course. They were after all, his own people- those who made up his flesh and blood. Kill German citizens? Never. He wouldn't even try to seriously bluff such a thing, let alone attempt it. It would be like carving chunks of his body out. No one sane would attempt such a sacrilege.

So only looking ahead, it wasn't long before he found himself in that familiar room again- so familiar to him that he could tell from the lines of the shadows exactly what was what, in spite of the darkness. Taking slow steps towards the resting place of his former ruler, he removed his hat and paused for a few seconds in front of it before speaking.

"You know, Fritz-" Gilbert broke the silence as he traced some lines on the old sarcophagus, bowing his head a little as he did so, "Sometimes I wonder what you would think if you decided to pop out of nowhere into this place that's the present. I think you would be disappointed in me, or at least, pissed at the films they decided to make on you for propaganda.

"You know I've never cared too much about your "_Enlightened Ideals_" or whatever you called them- some French I couldn't remember. It's always been the fight with me- wars and conquest. I just never thought that I'd come to where I am now. You would probably hate the Nazis. I mean, I don't hate them as much as I dislike their regime, but I'm not a politician and you know that. I'm just fucking dubious over what Hitler would do to the country. He hasn't even so far as started on those plans of his yet, and looking at where Ludwig is now- how would he be once they're all done?"

He imagined the sunlit rooms of Sans Souci, the gardens, the trills of the flute that Fritz had been so fond of, and laughed a little after that, and it held no humour. It was a bitter laugh of regret on the things that had passed. Though Gilbert was hardly one to cling onto the past and mourn for what had been, he thought that he was still allowed to show some resentment at the present day.

"I don't want to lose my brother. He's sort of everything I have and fucking had and who I did everything for. I'm worried but he doesn't care. I don't know what more I'm supposed to do either."

They were rebuilding an empire, not the last Reich of iron and blood, but a new one that Hitler swore would not fall in a thousand years. They were boastful words, but who else offered better besides he? Germany had been the first to fall under the spell, and then in a sense Prussia too, although not totally. He never really wanted to mind those matters. His mind was purely set on the notion of revenge against the nations who had dared humiliated the both of them so, at least at first. The dictatorship after the fall of the Republic wasn't something he minded too much either. He had been controlled by autocrats for centuries since his creation, so what was the difference?

In fact, if maybe the Nazis had imposed less on appearance Prussia would have been exactly the same as Germany right now. Or maybe if Prussia hadn't been born the way he was and instead like West, the finest stock of the Aryan label. Even though a so called "_exception_" had been made for him, it still pissed him off when he knew in any other situation, he would have been regarded as sub-human and a waste of life.

Prussia was not one to like being called anything less than awesome, especially by a short Austrian with a ridiculous mustache who fancied himself to be a gift sent by Divinity.

"Listen… I'm still sorry," he continued speaking, "I know I've been apologizing for years now, but I swear to you that I'll find some way to bring Silesia back from Feliks. But _I'm_- no, _West and I_ aren't strong enough yet. We're still getting over the last war, but I promise you that… I'll reclaim Silesia. Silesia if not anything else."

_Don't push yourself too hard_. Fritz would say, those grey eyes of his narrowed in concern, _A failure of a strategy is usually due to impulsive rashness._

Of course, that was if Fritz would forgive him at all for joining in on the Nazi regime. He didn't have a choice though. Surely his king would understand in Heaven or whatever place he was now.

And if he didn't, well…

Gilbert wouldn't know what to do with himself if Fritz out of all the people that he had ever known turned his back on the nation that was once his.

* * *

"What did you want me for, West?" Gilbert asked as he walked into Ludwig's office, flashing a predatory grin at the pretty brunette that was typing out something on the typewriter near the door as he did so. In truth though, he was curious. It wasn't exactly common that Germany gave him a summons on any occasion excepting some emergency or the other he couldn't exactly take care of right on hand.

The younger German's working space was the very personification of clean and tidy- nothing like the messiness of his brother's, though in defence Prussia did work better if the environment was more tailored to his liking. Innerly, he felt bad for whoever was in charge of cleaning the place to fit Ludwig's slightly morbid OCD tendencies when it came to straightening the office up. If not anything, the blond still retained the ability to freak out like as if they had just been bombed by _Farman F.220_'s whenever he found a tarnish on anything that was his. Prussia always had sniggering moments when he thought of it.

But the laughs died when Germany raised his eyes in an impassive manner and told him that one of their warships had been damaged in Spain- the _Deutschland, _one of the best that was stationed there, twenty six dead and seventy one injured in total- not heavy casualties, but it made the pit in Gilbert's stomach widen just the same.

The civil war in Spain had been getting from bad to worse as the months passed. It started with the disposal of the Spanish royalty and the autocracy of the nation becoming instead a republic. But then, a man who went by the name of Francisco Franco- who was also a veteran general stationed in Morocco- took the moment to try to attempt a double coup, so to instead turn Spain into something no less than a military dictatorship… not unlike the one operating in Germany. So Hitler, enthusiastic to support Franco for political reasons had sent forces into Spain to help the general seize power there, and therefore making Germany a vital player in the civil war.

The Republicans had been actually able to resist the Nationalist faction quite well, despite the constant air raids by the _Luftwaffe_ and the overall superiority of Franco's army that they were facing. They focused on guerilla warfare, which did a lot more damage than anyone had thought before hand- and they all fought like men who had nothing left to lose, which made up for some of their lacking in the technical field. It was safe to say that without German reinforcements, Franco would not be in a good position right now.

But even then, Germany was also losing men to the civil war. Gilbert always had disliked the notion for fighting a battle that would not aid himself in anyway, but he wouldn't deny the fact that despite the participation in Spain's internal conflict may not have bought too much gain to his country on the surface, but it did beneath. Germany had said that it would make Antonio a definite future ally should the Nationalists win, and he himself had realized the golden opportunity to test out their new prototype weapons on the field against real people.

Their army- the one thing that Prussia had always looked on as more important than almost all that anything else had to offer- was rebuilding itself fast after Versailles had stripped them of what had before been a national source of pride. It was perhaps the only thing that Prussia had to thank the Nazis for, and that he was grateful to the Nazis for.

And when time came, they wouldn't have to grovel at Britain's and France's feet anymore- or fear the Communists of the USSR and their influence over Europe. If there was anything that Prussia hated more than the National Socialists, it was Russia- or the Soviet Union or whatever the hell he was called now. _Kunersdorf_ still hadn't left his mind.

Going back to the original situation on hand: "You're fucking kidding me. How did that even happen?"

"Air raid. The anti-aircraft guns manage to shoot down a few, but the men were taken by surprise." Ludwig folded his hands together, as if he was afraid he might start fidgeting with them or something, "That is not all the bad news, brother."

"Is there more?"

"Yes. We have just gotten note that Stalin may very well be planning to assist the Leftists so that they may continue to tyrannize Spain and leave it to rot under Communist legislation."

_Like that would make any difference from Franco if he took over instead. _Prussia nearly snorted, but didn't voice the thought aloud. He was very well aware that to say that would mean treason, and the walls seemed to have grown ears lately around Berlin. Plus, that would piss Ludwig off, and Ludwig pissed off was hardly a desirable thing among anyone sane.

Still, he didn't really care. What was there was the war. It didn't matter who the hell he was fighting for- but they were fighting, and that was that. As long as the Nationalists were at the Republicans' throats, they had to ensure that the latter faction did not lose or that would be utter humiliation again. A humiliation that Germany could ill afford to suffer at this delicate time.

"That's really none of my concern unless the USSR starts sending in troops. I leave the diplomatic issues to you for taming, but I doubt Stalin would actually afford to do anything. I mean, their political regime is unsteady enough. I think that the bastard would need his army at hand if he wants to keep those generals of his from overthrowing him." Gilbert said instead, "At the most, they'll ship some weapons and shit, but looking at the way the Republicans are bottled up, I don't think it makes a difference."

The blond blinked slowly, "I see. However, I will contradict you on that. You are right on the army not aiding and the USSR engaging in selling weapons, but that's not accounting the volunteers from Russia, Mexico, and other countries like Britain. What can be confirmed is they are a weak, untrained force with no match against the Condor Legion and our mechanized forces. However, what can also be certain is that they can stall."

Stalling meant for the war to be dragged on. The war dragging on meant a constant drain to finances, money that could be spared but would come handy in many other places. Though it was an excellent training ground for the army, the economic factor was not that easy to look in the eye.

And besides, the situation in Spain was a muddle. No one knew exactly what was going on, or even more than the basic progress of the war. It was a faraway occasion- almost entirely non existent, if one could overlook the cash drain.

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

He knew the answer to that already, but the words had to come from Ludwig's mouth. After all, why else would his brother tell him to come to his office and suddenly bring on a conversation like this up? Even he wasn't that dense.

"I want you to go to Spain for a while to overlook the operations and inform the High Command of their exact status," Germany stood up and handed him a folder, "You will report back in two months exactly. The details are enclosed."

And that was that. Turns out, there was a way out of the paperwork after all.

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**Please leave a review! And like I said, I'll try to update as soon as I can. Usually you know, feedback gives me more motivation, just saying. All authors live on it. Even a little "good job" would make my day.  
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**Notes:**

**1) Frederick the Great, aka "Old Fritz" was Prussia's king from 1740- 1786. He was considered the greatest of the Prussian kings and managed to wage many wars against the powerful neighboring countries of the Austrian Empire and the Russian Empire, as well as Sweden, France, and many of the German states like Bavaria and Saxony to seize Silesia for Prussia. Later, he also managed to unite East Prussia with Brandenburg proper in the partitions of Poland. He also appears in the Hetalia manga, though not the anime.**

**2) _Farman F.220_'s were heavy bombers that the French used.**

**3) _Kunersdorf _was a battle in the Seven Years' War where the Prussians faced the Russians, and the Prussians were totally just massacred when it was over. It was not fun stuff, and one of Prussia's worst military defeats.**

**4) Germany actually spent 215 000 000 US dollars in today's money on the Spanish Civil War, thus the note on the finances. The Condor Legion was the force that the _Wehrmacht_ provided- with full air support- to aid the Nationalists in the fighting.  
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**5) The Spanish Civil War was indeed where the Germans tested out their new weaponry for the first time in actual combat. One of the main reasons that they even engaged in the war was that opportunity, since the Versailles treaty banned them from having an air force or any tanks at all (which was ignored to no consequence).**


	3. Act III: Sanguine Ties

_**Consanguinity**_

**A/N: I cannot believe the response this story is getting. Thank you people so much for the reviews! It is an honour to hear from so much of you, so thank you again! I honestly love you all with all my heart, and I am totally serious when I say that XD The proof is that I've managed to update three times in the last week. By this rate, I just might be able to get the story done way sooner than expected.**

**Anyhow, in this Act, we'll see Gilbert's visit to Spain and his less than positive interactions with Antonio, but I won't give it away just yet. In truth, I am not that happy with this chapter. I felt like it was kind of rushed... so have mercy, please. As always, tell me what you guys think.**

**Leave a review! More reviews mean more motivation!**

*********Okay guys, I am so sorry. I know this is the third upload of the chapter but this was so hard to write it was stupid. I fixed a lot of stuff and pretty much rewrote it. Again. Hopefully it wasn't as choppy as the first two attempts.*****

**(The next Act will feature our favourite useless Italian Feliciano, and Prussia will be back in Berlin with his brother again.)**

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_**Act Three: Sanguine Ties**_

The place that he set foot on after stepping out of the confines of the plane, Gilbert found it hard to believe was Spain. The town of Brunete was a ruin littered field of destruction, the bombed out buildings and flattened lots that contained the rubble of their toppled foundations sharply contrasting to what he had previously remembered it as in his mind's eye- an austere but well maintained settlement, around fourty three kilometers from the Spanish capital of Madrid. Empty artillery shells were now scattered on what used to be respectable streets; used up bullets and shrapnel a fair decoration for the sidewalks. The smell of smoke was still heavy in the smog that was the air- tainted with a nostalgic edge that Prussia only knew too well from the aftermath of a battle: the stench of rotting flesh amidst fire, and the overall cloying odour of death.

But even then almost involuntarily, he felt his pulse quicken a little- just a little from under his uniform. Perhaps it was only due to his stirring memory at witnessing such a scene again, since it had been so long since he had seen any sort of violent intentional destruction at all, the closest being a bad accident on field manoeuvres. It had been twenty years. Twenty years of stifling work- often depressing work- shut up in offices, unable to even breathe. Twenty years living a standstill blank that was life, and twenty years of feeling trapped in his own land, precariously handling matters like diplomacy he would never have in any other era even sat down for.

Though any other would perhaps said that the sight of Brunete's ruin was an utter source of shame and regret, it was not entirely so for Prussia. He saw in the desecration not only dilapidated mess, but also a lingering trace of beauty that remained- a dark beauty, one that was the byproduct of Bellona's spirit. It spoke of the bloodlust of combat and the triumphs and self-satisfaction that only victory through arms could offer. In other words it spoke of him, and he was entranced by what it had to offer him. This was where he was meant to belong. This was what he lived for.

The years had passed by and by, but this base side of Gilbert had never successfully vanquished itself- and though he never said much about it, it never would. To forfeit that legacy which proudly made it so that he would have a place as one of the greatest nations in Europe (and the world) would be like forsaking the reason of life. After all- without war, where would one be? Or for that matter, without war- what would Earth have turned into by this date?

That was one of the starkest reasons why he had always hated those pacifists who claimed that war was nothing but harm and murder. Prussia had grown up beside war, and had drank it in like wine as he learned what was best for himself. The basest of all logic was this: when one fought, it was for the attaining of power. With power, they could then reassure themselves of their safety so that they might live another day and not end up as fodder for a neighbour's weapons. Once the wellbeing was there, the people could then start developing their civilizations and improve on everything- but the basis was that all things rested on power. And the only way to seize power was not to sit there and talk but to fight for it so that no one would dare knife you in the back if you disagreed with them in the field of politics.

_That_ had always been a personal belief that he carried within him. It was kind of crude, but it made sense to Gilbert. Philosophy had never been very kind to him when it got more complex than the basics because he never saw how it could contribute necessarily to anything useful in the pragmatic sense. After all, despite everything- he was a practical person. Maybe he was vain and had a thing for collecting stray items he found to be interesting, but that's where it all rounded to in the end: practicality.

"_Generalfeldmarschall_." a soldier- Major, by his rank insignias on his uniform- greeted him as he walked down the ramp that led from the plane, "_Heil Hitler_."

"_Heil Hitler._" Prussia returned the salutations, as a "hello" had long since been replaced with this alternative, "This looks like a pretty beat up reception ground."

"There was an artillery dogfight here. Our tanks, combined with the firepower of the _Heinkels_ and _Messerschmitts_ managed to destroy the Republican batteries with ease."

"Awesome. Your name?"

"Kleist, sir." the man straightened up a little, "Thank you."

The nation flashed a small smile at him after hearing that. At least his own aristocrats could actually stand and fight whereas prisses like Austria just sat home and lauded at the piano all day.

"I assume, Major von Kleist, that you will be showing me to Headquarters."

"Affirmative. This way please." the soldier beckoned over to a cluster of mostly intact buildings, "The main temporary base is just a few minutes North. A car will take the two of us."

"Good. Do you have a report drawn up for me once we arrive there of the battle schematics, casualty lists, and current enemy position?"

"We have done so already. I am sorry that there were not more people to receive you… the damages were quite high, you see. Every man was needed to help out."

At this Gilbert laughed a little, "No need. I'm a soldier like you, Major- not one of those tight assed diplomats who want to be treated like kings during a time of war. I have to say that I regret being absent for the battle though, as unawesome timing has to dictate. I would strangle that brother of mine for securing my order _after_ the initiative phase was gone and done if I could. _Scheisskerl_."

"Forgive me, field marshal. The last ranking officer to arrive here was dastardly enough to chew out the heads of the most patient we had to offer. He was as arrogant as if he thought himself to be the _Fuehrer_."

"Oh, I hate those types too. Fuckers think they're higher than the rest of humanity…we get a lot of them at Berlin."

And that was a massive understatement.

The Condor Legion's main headquarters were jammed with a plethora of people, and all of them stood to attention after a few seconds of whispering as Gilbert walked in the room. Though he couldn't deny that he liked the attention- because well, he was _Prussia- _he returned salute and told them to get back to work. The Major escorted him down to the location of his office in a quieter wing of the building where the higher ranked officers had their private working spaces, and was dismissed to go back to his duties. Well, Gilbert could get used to this. Here he could finally shove aside Lady Politics and replace her with a more fitting girl to take in hand. It was always nice to escape crabby women and find freedom again.

The office was almost as tidy as Ludwig's back in Germany, and so Prussia felt almost a little guilty as he began to tear out paper from their organized folders and such around the room to get a clear idea of what had been going on for the offensives of the past few months. He needed to form a strategy to ensure another decisive battle- or at least, ensure not only a tactical victory but a strategic one as well next time the Nationalists and the Republicans collided. Prolonged skirmishing was useless in effect, after all.

_Casualty lists…_ he flipped impatiently through a file, finally finding the permanent records after five minutes or so had passed, but that wasn't all to it yet. Since the most recent battle- Brunete- was argumently the most important battle since the war began, it took a few more moments to narrow down an in depth report on the events that had transpired. They had seventeen thousand casualties and lost twenty three pieces of aircraft. It was not as bad as he expected, and after reading that the enemy had suffered an estimated amount of around twenty five thousand (give or take, he had realized that people were fond of bolstering up the numbers to sound more professional) with more than a hundred planes down, the facts spoke for itself. Though it wasn't a full tactical victory, Gilbert was farsighted enough to see that the Republicans would have a hard time getting over the losses. A hundred was like what…? Half their entire air force? The poor, poor bastards.

So after rifling through the documents, scrawling messily on the paper margins some notes about supplies and manpower, he started to write the report he was supposed to telegraph to the High Command by 2100 hours- something that annoyingly, Ludwig had told him at least a dozen times beforehand to do. It was almost like as if his brother thought he had some sort of memory deflect or something half the time he was assigned something. Hey, so maybe he had bad short term memory for trivialities, but Gilbert was never late for meetings and took state matters with only a little less steam that Germany did. Either way, most of the talk surrounding him about his horrible work habits were just rumors. They were probably created by some of the stupid bastards in the OKW he offended or made an offhand remark about that they got note of. Or maybe they were just assholes, because their breed was getting more and more common as time passed.

Gilbert was there for maybe two hours or so before a knock broke him out of his thoughts. It was probably his secretary or something here getting him some tea or something, so he didn't really pay too much attention as he granted entry. Apparently it wasn't though. A visitor? Then he could stay still for awhile. Whoever came in had the politeness to shut the door behind them, and waited for him to make some last details on the report like he should have. However, after a bit, he heard the man clear his throat and address him with a voice he only knew too well to ever forget whom it had belonged to. Ever.

"_Saludos, _Prussia."

Wary red eyes looked up, and they landed on the dulled greens of a battered version of Antonio Fernández Carriedo- Spain himself.

* * *

The truth was that Prussia had barely recognized him, despite the fact that the Southern nation was one of his closest friends he had. He had lost so much weight to the point where he looked as thin as a rail, and his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones more pronounced than ever. His hair was ragged and overgrown and his uniform too large for his thinner frame, giving him the look of someone masquerading a scarecrow. The civil war really had taken a toll on him. Gilbert hadn't remembered a time where Spain had been this beat up ever since England had destroyed his armada a few hundred years ago and when his Empire had begun falling apart.

"You look like shit." The German said almost pityingly, "Take a seat. I think that would be better for the both of us."

"I will stand, Prussia." Spain replied in a frosty tone that made the albino almost stare because it reminded him so much of Ludwig's, "I am here for business, nothing more. You do understand that."

"Of course, but you know- wouldn't it be nice to have a drink like old friends? I can arrange for some beer to be brought up if you want."

"I must decline, my apologies."

"Really? That's odd of you. I've been working my ass off over here to an extent where even Ludwig would be proud, not that it would ever happen of course. But still, why the formalities? Sit down and talk and later we can do something awesome together like we usually do. Maybe find a few girls and... you know the rest..."

"That will not be necessary. I welcome you to my country, Prussia, and that is all that is required of me. Moreover, it would be unwise to waste time over small talk instead of settling a financial compromise for my economical debt, which is why I am even here."

"Well still- I don't see why not. There's time later, right?"

"The details of my duty are clear. I will remain where I am now."

Two sentences. Two sentences and the atmosphere had transformed into a suffocating prison. What was going on with Spain? Prussia was sure that the civil war would affect a nation's mind in hardly a positive way (he never had one, so he didn't know too much about the specifics) but this nation that had stood in front of his as stiff as Germany himself when addressing the Fuerher in front of the Reichstag was radiating something that Prussia felt was close to cold, apathetic indifference. As if Prussia was no different than a simple acquaintance, and one that he didn't want to involve himself with as well. As if the previous centuries that they had shared together had not even existed. Hell, the German treated people on the streets with more familiarity that he was getting from Spain.

It was like talking to one of those politicians that Prussia disdained back in Berlin. They imitated frost when not trying to win you over to some sort of scheme. This wasn't right. This was not how Spain acted, ever- not once in the two hundred years they had been friends.

"Okay. Tell me what the fuck is going on." Gilbert demanded, standing up so he was on eye level with Antonio, "Why are you treating me like this? What happened?"

"I do not understand what you're implying."

"You. Why are you acting like this towards your best friend?"

"Your meaning still is unclear. I fail so see why you are so upset when I am trying to be polite."

"Polite? Is that supposed to be sarcasm? You talk like as though you're a goddamned rock."

"Is that so? Then I apologize," Spain's voice was now heavy with sugar- and frankly, it successfully made Prussia feel almost sick, "I was hardly aware that there was a law about the way I have to talk, aside from respecting _superiors._"

The way he spat out the last word made it seem like as if he was handling poison on his tongue, one that he would willingly redirect to Prussia so that he may suffer the consequences. Gilbert more confused than before now, but his confusion was laced with the smallest sparks of irritation. He hated it when people didn't arrive at the point, but the fact that Spain had just seemingly mocked him cut into his pride like a knife- a dull butter knife but one nevertheless. What was going on exactly he still did not guess- all he knew was that Spain was being an irrational cold assed prick, and he at least wanted an explanation. The only reason why Gilbert wasn't as pissed as he should have been right now was because Antonio was his friend. Best friend, since France had deflected from their unofficial triumvirate. He only hoped now that that fact would not rewrite itself.

Now looking at what used to be the Spain he thought that he knew, it was hard to keep his stomach from sinking. Gone was that jovial expression that he had always carried around even on the worst of days, and the vibrant personality that made the southern nation who he was. He was replaced with a statue that oozed silent resentment and wore a look that otherwise looked like one of a haunted animal evading the hunter. It was almost like seeing two different beings altogether and then realizing that they were one the same, despite all the differences they held from one another.

"Do you hate me or something now?" Prussia asked, his voice coming out harsher than he anticipated it would, "Because fuck, you're acting as if I were a bag of garbage someone tossed on your doorstep that knows how to talk."

The brunet looked away almost warily as if he was trying to restrain voicing his thoughts, "I don't know how I'm supposed to respond."

Ouch. That stung. Deep. It wasn't that Prussia wasn't used to the fact of someone stating that they loathed him by now, but at this moment it felt like something akin to a personal betrayal. They had been friends ever since the War of the Austrian Succession of 1740, when Spain had joined France in aiding Prussia of the job of doing what no German state had dare done before: invading the neighbouring Austrian Empire. Ever since then for the almost two centuries that had passed, they were the closest friends could be- even when wars threatened to tear them apart, like the way it had gone with France. Gilbert just had never thought that one day, things would come to this. What had he done to earn Spain's hate, out of everything? _Everything_?

"Then don't. Just tell me what the hell I did wrong." The German brushed some of his platinum locks back with his hands out of frustration, "Because I'm lost. Sure, you can hate me all you like but I think it's fair for me to ask _why_."

He expected an answer, but Antonio only stared in an almost ridiculed fashion. It would have been funny in any other situation, and of course if he didn't look like he was trying to contain an inner explosion of sorts within. Even from the angle where he was standing Gilbert could see his knuckles blanch into white as he clenched his hands into tight fists, his body itself slightly shaking. In anger perhaps, the albino didn't know. He couldn't read people too well, but he was pretty sure that was what it was.

He had seen the same expression on his brother's face as the Versailles treaty had been read out to them.

"I can't believe you." when Spain spoke, it was clear he was trying hard not to yell, "You are responsible for this. You're responsible for all of this. My own people are trying to kill each other simply because of your fucking Fascist ideals, and now you send in your own soldiers to lend so called "_help_"?

Not only are you killing me more day by day but now you're trying to turn me into a breeding place for your _brainwashing cult_. And then you deny not knowing why I despise you to the point where I would gladly rip you apart…are you stupid?" he punctuated his words with a sneer that was directed especially for Prussia, "You're disgusting, do you know that? You and your brother are both mindless machines. You shouldn't even call yourselves nations anymore. You both have no pride and no honour. _You're filth, and your people are as barbaric as you are_."

Whatever Prussia was going to say died instantly in his mouth.

_Disgusting. Mindless machines. No honour. Filth. He called Ludwig and I filth, our people barbarians._

_He just called Ludwig and I filth and our people barbarians._

_He just called our people..._

To insult another nation the way Spain did was the lowest blow one of them could take. There was an unwritten law among them that they all respected: you could diss anyone however you liked if you hated them, but the people remained off limits. To insult a nation's people was not only just insulting the nation, but it was questioning their right of being alive and in a sense, their very souls that defined who they were. It was like saying that they had no right to hold their own independence, no right to maintain a border, no right to remain on a map. It was questioning the very core of their existence on Earth, and it hurt a lot more than a simple "_go die_". It was like calling one's entire history a fraud.

And now, Spain had done exactly all the stated.

The German felt his own hackles rise, a giant bubble of pent up anger finally bursting inside of him. No one talked to him like that. No one talked about Ludwig like that. No one would and no one was about to start to. How dare Spain even open his mouth to say such lies towards them both. _No_ honour? _Not_ worthy to be nations? _Who did the son of a bitch think he was talking to_? He didn't care whether or not Spain hated him or not or whatever the fuck he was thinking stupidly about a while ago. Now he just wanted to gut the other from inside out and stick his head on a pike for the heinous insults and _revenge-_ sweet, sweet revenge.

"What did you say?" Gilbert's voice was a flat monotone that barely veiled the anger dancing underneath, and the desire coursing through him to rip the other's eyes out. He was daring for the other to say more than he had.

"You know perfectly well what I said and I meant every word of it, _fascist scum_."

He marked it with a glowering smirk, and that severed the last thread between them.

What came after was an abrupt blur for Prussia- he only recalled his fist colliding with something hard that gave way under it, before it happened again and again and again before he was dragged away from the melee by some people who had figured out that something was going on and had bust down the office door. Then when his brain went back to normal, he saw the cherry red stain of blood on his hands, a bright contrast against his too pale skin. He saw Antonio, whose face was a smashed in heap of flesh and bone with his nose starkly broken in the middle of the mess. He deserved it, for daring to insult the Fatherland like he did-

Wait. What the hell was he even thinking…? _The Fatherland_? When did-

Oh no. What had just happened?

Did he just _attack _Spain? Did he just break his former best friend's nose and turn his visage into a bloody pulp because he only said what was true, but somehow Prussia had seen the words as insults to the Nazi regime and somehow ended up defending the cause that he swore he would eternally hate? What had he just done? Why did he do what he just did? _What the hell was going on_?

Spain was still his best friend and brother in arms. Any other nation, Prussia wouldn't have cared- but not Antonio. He felt like a traitor too for violating loyalty, despite everything that happened. Things shouldn't have gone that way. He overreacted, but he should have had more self control. Where had the discipline he was so proud of gone? The very training that made him the country he was?

(Later, Gilbert would recall with a shudder why that incident had not dislodged itself from his consciousness and his heart both: he had _enjoyed_ with some sick and twisted version of pleasure the entire ordeal. He had _enjoyed_ punching Antonio with the intent to reduce him to a broken man, and he had _enjoyed_ the sight of his best friend's gore on his hands. It haunted him. Refused to leave from his mind's eye. Replayed over and over again like a broken record in his dreams…)

He didn't know what was happening to him anymore.

* * *

**Lessons learnt: Prussia is a dense idiot when it comes to reading people, and never insult Ludwig in front of him or you'll end up like poor Spain. Please leave a review, because reviews motivate me a lot. In fact, this is the fastest I have ever been updating in a long time... so we both keep up the good work? XD**

**Notes:**

**1) Brunete was one of the largest battles of the Spanish Civil War, and was ultimately what led to the Nationalists' victory over the Republicans as the war dragged itself on. The Germans played a huge role in the battle with their air support, and they ended up getting the "most favoured nation" status from Spain which gave it advantages when it came to trading. Spain was kind of in debt at that time due to war expenses so they paid Germany by exporting raw materials.**

**2) Bellona is a Roman goddess of war that personified bloodlust in combat. I think she's a lot cooler than the Germanic equivalent, so hence why this fact is going to be on a Roman deity. Also, more people knows who the hell she is, so yeah.**

**3) The von Kleists were one of the most influential families of the old Prussian aristocracy, hence Prussia mentioning the bit about Austria and such. Like all the others, they had a solid military tradition. Nearly all their the Kleist males were involved in the military one way or another. Also they have an online family tree that's_ massive_ but you have to email them if you want access and stuff, so I haven't done it. **

**4) **_**Generalfeldmarschall-**_** General Field Marshal, **_**Scheisskerl-**_** a variation of bastard, **_**Saludos**_**- Salutations. _Heinkels_ and _Messerschmitts- _German manufactured bombers and fighters that were way better than the Russian ones that used to be in use. **

**5) The reason why Spain blamed Prussia and in turn, Nazi Germany for the civil war was because of the fact that one of the main reasons why Franco was after power and why he even had supporters who was trying to tear the free constitution up was because he was inspired by fascism. That's also not to say that Germany and Italy both were assisting the Nationalists and draining the economy, but like everyone he saw Germany as the greater evil. Thus he went rabid on Prussia, who couldn't tell him that he really didn't support the Nazis because that would have been treason.**

**6) And we can all see how the affair ended. This is how I thought Nazi Germany would affect Prussia because really, he was still there back then and it must have affected him one way or the other. Where Germany has become a brainwashed robot, Prussia is regressing back and becoming something like a blood lusting war machine.**


	4. Act IV: In Discordia

_**Consanguinity**_

**A/N: I really am sorry for being away for so long, but in my defense I have been preoccupied. There is this provincial prose contest I wanted to enter, so I took the time to write it out, with a lot of hours of _Star Trek_ and _The Office_ and my new _Call of Duty_ PC game that took a while to configure because you know, er... I got it for free and all *cough***

**Also, has anyone been watching the Olympics? Two words: Goooooo China! Also, Germany is doing pretty well- and of course, America's swim team is as badass as usual. It's such a shame that they're not airing fencing or badminton or ping pong for that sake on the channels that broadcast the Olympics where I am.**

**Anyway in this Act, Prussia has returned from Spain due to diplomatic recall, and he finds that Italy has actually decided to come to Berlin early.**

**(The next Act will chronicle the revolution within the ranks of the Wehrmacht as Hitler begins purging his top generals and then makes himself the head of the Armed Forces, while the first stages of the Anschluss (the annexing of Austria into Germany) begin.)**

**Read and review! I always welcome feedback!**

* * *

_**Act Four: In Discordia**_

It really was no longer a question of doubt but more like a question of definite finality- and despite the fact that Prussia knew in the back of his mind that there was certainly something wrong- something very, very wrong and the actions he had been involuntarily seized with were only a hinted whisper of the calm before the storm- he kept it away and refused to even as much move a figurative finger over those scattered thoughts. He refused to deny that they were there obviously, because delusion was always a drug he refused to take- but in a way, he also refused to acknowledge the existence of such malice that had started to contaminate him as much as it refused to acknowledge the side of his sanity. It was a poisonous vine that threatened to strangulate his reason. It was in a sense, like an invading pariah that refused to leave no matter what he tried.

But in truth, there was not much Gilbert could do about it in any case. It was clear that this _thing _was linked with the growth and domination of the Nazi Party, and unless the Nazis would be eradicated (_cutting the cause at its root_) it would continue to grow and conquer, like it had already done so with Ludwig. He could only deduce that the only reason why he had not been taken over yet was his own reluctance to accept the new government form and his own disgust at their doctrines- not to mention the fact that he was technically not a country proper anymore which lead to the weakening of national influences.

A nation after all, was what their people were, and none of them had the means to defy the logical edict. If Germany's people accepted the military dictatorship then Germany himself would become what his people thought the country was in their minds. They had no blame of deciding who they were to be and not, and if Prussia was changing now- no matter how slow the transfiguration- he could not deny that it was not his fault directly, but what made up his being.

Thoughts were stronger than most people would think they were, but then again, thoughts overall were what decided the fates of nations and their general destiny. Nations were born with unified thoughts of a constitution, and they died when that constitution would prove no more- when the people had scrapped the thoughts from their minds and therefore taking away the country's purpose that he or she was supposed to serve in the world. They evolved with the process of thought that dictated the order of society, and they would change along with whatever the people as a whole became.

In the end, there really was _nothing_ that he could do. Gilbert couldn't order what came to be, nor what his people thought, nor the changing tides of whatever time would bring on him. He couldn't order the sets to be taken apart and he couldn't order the curtain of the current Acts to be drawn. He could only watch and speculate, and endure whatever he had to at the hands of those who governed him as a whole.

So really, it was amazing how little control a country had over how their own histories would play out.

* * *

The days passed like the winds of a desert storm- fast, but stricken with a high potential of calamity. The numbness associated with command and the relief at finding a place where he could actually talk to some who understood his own thoughts erased much of the distress that had been eating away at his brain, for Prussia was one of the few who could claim that he worked better under heavy pressure than away from it where nothing but the monotony of boredom lay. This certainly made his capabilities a lot more awesomely tailored to his expectations of himself when met with last minute demands- which always rose up during a war and not too much otherwise at an office in Berlin. And not to mention people appreciated his work a lot more where he had been stationed at too, unlike a crowd of snotty bureaucrats he could name that he would be glad to shoot in the head had he been allowed it.

He hadn't seen Antonio again since the incident, and when Gilbert tried to inquire his whereabouts, apparently no one really knew either. Eventually he learned that the Spaniard had deflected from the ranks to join the Republicans in their resistance against Franco, and when he processed that fact fully, Gilbert had innerly cursed at Antonio for being a fool. Although he applauded his (_ex_) friend's valour and courage for fighting in what he stood for, the truth was that anyone could see the Republicans were nothing but a lost cause unless a miracle of sorts was to happen with the way things were going. There was a difference in fighting for something that one was capable of winning and something that was utterly forsaken, unless one had already gone too far in the gamble to back out. Prussia for one, tried his best at making sure that he stuck to his job instead of probing into affairs that were hardly his own to start with.

During the early days of September he received an urgent telegram from Berlin, sent by his brother himself that Gilbert was to return as soon as possible for diplomatic purposes. Apparently Hitler had finally gotten his wish that Mussolini visited his- _their _capital city, and he wanted all honours to be granted to the one who had _inspired_ him to advocate the Nazi cause. That meant that Prussia had to take a plane back to Germany to greet a bastard whom he gave no damns about whatsoever and abandon his post in Spain earlier than planned. It pissed him off quite a lot, so to speak, but least Veneziano was going to be there. The last time that Gilbert remembering seeing the kid was back in WWI when Germany had reluctantly kept him as a faux prisoner of sorts in their house. The brunet had both amused him and was also capable of performing the miracle of getting Ludwig of relaxing for a few minutes, so Prussia had decided he kind of liked Italy. It was more than he could say for Romano though.

When he got back, he found Berlin laced up like some beautiful lady who tried to turn elegancies into whorish, much too overdone fashions. She was bound in a too tight gown and painted with so much make up that no one could see underneath anymore, but could not deny that this was indeed the city that had been so prominent at the center of European affairs for centuries, and even now was. Endless red flags and banners all with the black swastika strewn in the middle hung from every wall available on major streets, and even some on minor ones that were the backwaters of the city. All the places seemed to have been swept over in some kind of cleaning frenzy that took every speck of dirt out of the pavement. Pieces of statuary and plants that hadn't been there a few months ago now randomly morphed into appearance in parks or just on the sides of roads following pedestrian cluttered streets, which some (the majority) Prussia regarded as evidence of pretty poor taste among whoever designed them. Then again, he didn't have too much of an eye for such things and thought that Berlin was fine the way it was- Mussolini or no Mussolini.

"Brother." Ludwig said once they saw each other again when the Mercedes dropped Gilbert off at their residence, "_Heil-_"

"Oh, for _Gott_'s sake Ludi, just forgo that for one day will ya?" Gilbert grinned, his would be annoyance almost forgotten at just seeing Germany again after nearly three months' separation. He drew the blond in a somewhat awkward hug- mainly because his brother was frozen for two seconds before it processed through his mind and he wrapped his own arms slowly around the albino's shorter frame, "Why don't you greet me as you've always had anyway? No formalities was the rule we made up."

"… I'm sorry if I appear insincere."

"None taken, _brüderlein_. I missed you, you know? More than I expected."

Ludwig took the joke with a raise of the eyebrow, "It is good you were able to report in so soon. I thought that you might not be here for a good day or two at least."

"Never. Punctuality at stuff is part of what makes me awesome."

"Good," blue eyes flickered to the house, and they seemed almost absent, "…very good."

If Prussia hadn't known his brother better than that, he wouldn't have caught that flash of something that jumped across his face that resembled almost uneasiness at something- that _something_ though, still unknown. It was something that transpired in half a second and then was gone as fast as it had appeared, replaced with the usual blank look. But Gilbert had known his brother for over two centuries- and hell, raised him to who he was. He knew at that instant that there was something nagging at Ludwig's side, and a selfishly perverse part of him crowed an inner victory at seeing Germany's impassiveness drop for a while, even if it were as short as it were.

Red eyes narrowed as a small smirk dangled on the side of Prussia's lips, "Why, I haven't seen that look in a while. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing much in particular, but…" the blond cleared his throat a little and said a few words that ended up explaining everything, "Italy has… decided to humor us with his presence earlier than the official date in which the _Duce_ is set to arrive in Berlin, his reason being that he was too excited to wait (as he puts it). I fear, brother, that he is as persistent as ever in his… " here, he paused a bit as if trying to find the right word. After all, Ludwig had always viewed the common human way to fill in the gap with an "_uh_" or an "_umm…_" as slightly unprofessional, "… his _antics_."

Right. That which made Italy what he was: his romanticism, his uselessness when faced with someone who threatened harm, and his- as Ludwig had so kindly put it- _antics_. It was a serious fluke that the kid could call Rome his grandfather, let alone any nation that was even competent. Prussia had expected someone more with an overseas Empire like England and a brilliant army like his to be the heir to one of the greatest nations that history had produced, not a pasta making fool who actually refused to go from captivity because German POW food was supposedly better than what they had for rations in the actual army. And just when Prussia thought he had seen all he had to know about warfare, he added a small note- scratch that- a gigantic sentence in his mind stating that whatever Italian he had in the army would always be pushed to the auxiliaries. Feliciano was just… _different,_ that was all.

"I see." The albino said, and he really did in fact, _see_. It was hard not to pity his brother, but at the same time he felt like he deserved it for shoving so much paperwork onto an innocent for no reason at all.

"Pray tell, what exactly?"

"A lot of things. What's he done in the last few days that make it sound like you've been dying many times over?"

Germany sighed, and ran a hand through his perfectly gelled back hair, "I do not care to name them all, but note his most amazing exploit so far was that he tried to activate a grenade by throwing the pin and keeping the actual grenade in his mouth."

"Wow, that's new." The older sibling didn't try to hold back a snicker, but slowly he was connecting two and two in his head and working out a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to say, "Testing immortality to its limits, _nein_? I assume that you saved him."

"I am at a lost at how to proceed. I do not wish to harm any political ties between our countries, so I have my hands tied…And we should go back in, brother. Italy had the good graces at least to make some tea. Also, I am tired."

"Hey West, wait." Prussia slung an arm across Ludwig's shoulders and grinned his familiar, thoroughly arrogant smirk, "I'm a kind man. I'll take him off your hands until the bald rat gets his ass" (he ignored the fixed glare that Ludwig sent his way) "from Rome to here. What do you say?"

It took Germany no less than two seconds to nearly jump up (not literally) in relief. Gilbert almost wished to torture his little brother longer just to squeeze more satisfaction into the awaited kill.

"That would be most appreciated. You have honestly no idea how much this means to me as a whole-"

_You wish. _

"I actually do, and that's the thing." he folded his arms smugly, "Do my paperwork for a month as payment, okay West?"

* * *

Berlin's streets and shops were mostly cluttered by this time of the day, but his uniform and Italy's both took care of most of the crowd problem, which parted for them quite easily as they passed through. Beside him, the shorter nation kept up a constant stream of chatter that had not abandoned the two of them since they had left Ludwig behind at the house, most likely with a serious migraine of sorts that lately had not seemed willing to leave him. Gilbert understood why now at least. While he didn't really care about the presence of the constant talk (being quite an extrovert himself on the matter) it would have been a living hell for an extreme introvert like Ludwig. Probably was comparable to a drill being constantly screwed into his skull, day by day and everyday- and the fact that Italy really couldn't care less about regulations and protocol, bohemian spirit he was, was like the cherry on top of the Molotov cocktail.

But the strange phenomenon was that Ludwig was the most open to Feliciano directly after his interactions with his own brother, so Gilbert had observed and made a note of. If that wasn't oxymoronic he didn't know exactly what was. Oh well. What could he say?

"Ludwig hasn't shown me much of Berlin." Italy said as they passed by an art store, "He's always so busy… but I try to help. He likes my pasta a lot."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Hopefully. I can't speak for everyone though."

"Yeah, I suppose though I tend to forget to regard that triviality."

"Ludwig said that once too during training, " Feliciano looked as though he was trying to remember something, "And that everyone should properly be of one mind and-"

_Damn._ _Something else, anything else_.

"Uh… that's nice. I'm afraid that my bother can be a tight assed workaholic 95% of the time he's awake and breathing."

The Italian just looked confused.

"Hey, it's fine." Gilbert conveniently changed the subject like planned, "So how do you like what you've seen so far?"

"_Ve_? I think that the food's kind of limited and the art is not as good as it is in Italy."

Feliciano really should have been glad he was as he was, and that Prussia understood that he only said it because he didn't really know better. At least the kid wasn't terrified of him anymore as he was back then, and he would have really preferred to keep present status quo.

So instead of some barbed insult, he replied, "Yeah, but… never mind. Anything else? You know… positive?"

The Italian paused for a second, "Your women are nice, but some of them scare me. They called me an… _entzückende Miezekatze_ and started giggling, but then Ludwig said something to them quite sternly but he wouldn't tell me what they said. "

_Oh, Gott. _The German felt a massive smirk envelope his face, and tried not to bark out a laugh or anything similar at the statement. Figures that Feli would be called that by a bunch of chicks, but the funny part was obviously Ludwig's inability to say something of the sort out loud. He had this… moral code of sorts that was outdated by at least two hundred years even though Gilbert knew perfectly well about what kind of stuff he kept around for amusement. Didn't ever tell him though.

"Hm… why don't you try to ask Ludwig that again? And ask him what a _Runde tanzen_ is too, but don't tell him I said it."

"Okay, but wouldn't that be lying?" the Italian asked curiously, "I don't want to lie to Ludwig."

"No, no. It doesn't count when all my intentions are pure." _Not._ "But ditch it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Can I? You won't be mad at me, right?"

"Hey, I gave you a second option…" Prussia paused, suddenly slightly uneasy, "But hey, I uh… take it back. West probably won't be too glad if he heard you do that and the would try to murder me if he found out that I put you up to it."

"That's good. I know you understand this more than anyone, Prussia- but he's my best friend and kind of my only one besides big brother France, who doesn't talk to me anymore. I want him to be happy."

"Kind of you to say." Great. Now he really did feel kind of guilty.

It was undeniable that it was odd to speak to someone like that about the subject. Talking to Feli on such matters was kind of like trying to communicate with some perpetual virgin from a convent… but in this case, Italy wasn't exactly a virgin. Prussia would bet his life on the fact. Also, he had an uncanny sense of making the German feel bad over shit like no one else did.

They stopped at the famous site of the _Lustgarten _because Italy both wanted a little break and he was also fascinated by the _Berliner Dom _that dominated over most of the site. The brunet took out a sketchbook from the bag he carried around and sketched a picture of the structure while Gilbert watched from the corner of his eye, slightly jealous that he couldn't do anything when it involved artistic ability. He could draw maps and battle formations on paper just fine, but that was kind of it. What Italy couldn't do on the battlefield (almost everything) he made up for off, and speaking the honest truth Gilbert just couldn't really see Feli holding an assault rifle and killing people he had no real quarrel against aside from the fact that they were born in the wrong place at the wrong time. In other words, he saw the other nation's value as a friend, but hardly an ally. They couldn't afford weak allies, but at least that would be better than to have someone against them, wasn't it?

But if there were to be a potential war- if there were to be a conflict that were to engulf the entire world as they knew it-

Gilbert shook his head and temporarily dismissed those thoughts. Maybe just for a moment he could try and think of something else. After all, he was supposed to be happy today, not clogged up in a depressing gloom. Fuck the world for once.

Still, Italy's words replayed over and over again in his head- _I want him to be happy. I want him to be happy…_

_I want him to be happy too, _he confessed only to nothing but whatever constituted Mother Earth and the Sky, _But does Ludwig still care?_

* * *

**Truth to be told, I'm not exactly proud of the chapter, but I don't hate it either so to speak. I've been requested some brotherly moments between our two favourite Germans, so I tried to incorporate it in as much as I could with the issues surrounding them- and then, there was Italy. I tried not to make him sound too much of the annoying little bleep he is in the anime and more you know, like an actual country who's actually far older than both Prussia and Germany if we were to look at history itself, even if we were to use the HRE= Germany fact (which I agree with). Prussia just calls him a kid for the sake of it.**

**But if anyone were to disagree with me about it- let's look at this: in Chibitalia, there was a scene where Rome watches Veneziano paint, and it's quite obvious that he (as in, Veneziano) was born some time before that. I assume that Rome "died" during 285 CE, which was the split of West/East halves (or at 455 CE with the second and totally _German S_ack of Rome, which agrees with the canon fact that Germania ended Rome), and so the scene must have been some time before that. Prussia was born as the Teutonic Knights during the Crusades of the middle ages- a thousand years or so after- and HRE was officially proclaimed somewhere around the late 800's CE. Germany as a country was declared in the mid 1800's, but I assume we all believe that Prussia raised him and therefore it would be fair to assume that the only logical conclusion we can draw from this since Germany has _no _memories whatsoever of HRE was that the earliest "incarnation" that Germany could be was the Confederation of the Rhine- created at 1806 upon the dissolving of HRE. Therefore Italy is still older than them both, as hard as it is to believe it.**

**Anyway, to the Notes:**

**1) I believe that Nations can change their own histories certainly, but in truth they have no more power that a say- influential politician. And even they can't work miracles when things have gone too far. Think about it: what could Prussia have done to stop the Nazi regime from spreading? The answer is not much at this point, if anything at all.**

**2) Yes, _Mercedes-Benz_ existed back then. Fun fact: that was the brand of Hitler's own personal car.**

**3) The _Duce- _Mussolini's title... not unlike the "_Fuehrer_", _Brüderlein- _a variation of_ "_brother"_,_ _entzückende Miezekatze- _adorable kitty_, __Runde_ _tanzen_- lap dance. Yeah, that's Gilbert for you. No wonder he felt bad later, because Ludwig would have probably exploded in Feli's face if he asked such a thing_  
_**

**4) The _Lustgarten_ or so to render it in English- "Pleasure Garden" still is there in Berlin today and is also home to the _Berliner Dom_, this really cool looking Rococo styled church that was sadly bombed out during WWII, but since then has been rebuilt. **

**Please leave a review!**


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